Skeleton in the Cupboard

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

I was researching my family history some years ago and went for a drink afterwards with someone likewise engaged. He asked me why I was doing it and I confessed it was a form of therapy to help me recover from a bad nervous breakdown; it was still (relatively) early days.  When I asked him the same question, he laughed and commented to the effect that he was hoping to find a few skeletons in the family cupboard. “Mind you,” he added almost as an afterthought, “I’m not sure I like the idea of someone raking over my bones,” and tossed me a knowing wink, whereupon I felt faintly uneasy and changed the subject. We passed a cheery enough hour together, and parted promising to meet up again…which we never did.

Given how we all perceive each other differently, that the media are inclined to put across a view of us altogether differently again should the opportunity arise and various ad hoc reports are likely to be biased if not suspect, depending on time and context…ca we really expect to reach a balanced view of any life history?

Hopefully, the average family history mole will arrive at a balanced perspective, but I can’t help wondering how he or she would feel about someone burrowing into their personal history…?

SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD

I cannot see, hear or speak,
but I know things, feel things, keep them
close to my chest, archive them
so any who care to rummage the files once
the archivist has moved on
may yet discover what it was that I hid
behind closed doors who thought
the better part of valour to keep them shut
on pain of hurt wherever

I can neither defend my actions
nor ever explain, but I feel them, keep them
close to my chest, archive them
to a living and posthumous consciousness
in which we all have a share,
whether or not we choose to pass on
anything of what has been gained,
learned or lost from experiencing the nature
of experience as it is

I will never see, hear or speak
to any who know things, feel things about me
for researching my history
out of a sense of responsibility, curiosity
or simply an affinity with people
suspected of slamming doors on closet lives,
choosing to forget their footprints,
handprints, DNA, even nervy (scary?) scrawl
remain open access

I am a silent witness to all life throws,
for better or worse, in sickness, health, death
and wherever else angels (it’s said)
may well fear to tread if dearly wanting
to prise open closed doors,
research archives history would prefer left
to gather dust for fear they expose
hidden truths, they from whom so much hid
for love of them

I am called many things by many people
struggling to differentiate between good and evil,
erring on the side of the former
wherever possible if only by comparison
with its global counterpart’s capacity
for one-upmanship in every area of human life,
leaving much the same paper
and online trails for any dedicated followers
of home truths to follow

For every family's history in my every bone,
someone exposing secrets of their own...


Copyright R. N. Taber 2018

[Update: Dec. 5^th 2020:  This poem appears in the Genealogists’ Magazine for December 2020. For more information about the Society (London UK) : http://www.sog.org.uk/about/contact-the-society]

Finding Neverland

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

This poem was written while I was recovering from a bad nervous breakdown in the early 1980’s. I found it buried under various documents for which I no longer have any use, and thought some readers might be interested.  Writing - especially poetry - helped me through that breakdown to a new job nearly 4 years later, one that would take me to retirement in 2008.

FINDING NEVERLAND

Oh, to ride a cloud

out of Nowhere, carrying me

Somewhere

Somewhere,

all varieties of plant and animal

in harmony

Somewhere,

no acid rain or polluted oceans,

only beauty

Somewhere,

no hint of war or double dealings,

only peace

Somewhere,

no hate crime grabbing headlines,

only love

Somewhere,

no socio-cultural-religious dogma,

only humanity

It’s cloud nine

to Somewhere, only ever dumps us

back Here

Here, there…

round trip to Neverland where hope

springs eternal

Copyright R. N. Taber 1983; 2018

A Positive Take on Adversity or L-I-F-E. No Waiting Game

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

I have read poems at voluntary self-help groups from time to time. Many of the people who attend are on welfare and/or have mental health problems and/ or alcohol or drug related problems. These are fine people, trying to help themselves and each other with precious little help or encouragement from outside the group. It is inspiring to see them pulling together in adversity and learning to take responsibility for themselves and each other; a lesson the less enlightened among us would do well to learn instead of preferring to pass judgement on others.

Help, encouragement, reassurance...these ARE all out there, but rarely will they simply knock on our door; we need to knock on theirs and find the words to ASK. I well recall how my mother once told me that life is no waiting game, how we have to get out there and live it, and that means meeting each other at least halfway.

 A POSITIVE TAKE ON ADVERSITY or L-I-F-E, NO WAITING GAME

Coming together, supporting each other,

toes in the Sea of Life, getting a feel for the swim

rather than drown

Making an effort to come down to a shore

where seaweed and shells on shifting sands spread

rather than stay in bed

A part of a life tide’s natural ebb and flow

yet frightened of its fickle nature, all highs and lows

but a Hall of Mirrors

Alone, it is hard to bear the happy sounds

of children laughing, applause for ice cream chimes,

hints at kinder times

In good company, easier by far to break free

of shadows stalking us, driving us to seek sanctuary

in cages of our history

Together, let’s imagine wings, flex and fly,

take heart from songbirds rejoicing seashore and sky,

no matter where or why

As rough or fair as any sea passage may be,

let us look to fellow voyagers, let a creative empathy

reconstruct our history

Coming together, supporting each other,

getting a feel for wings rising above, learning how

to trust in Nature’s love

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared  under the title 'A Feeling for Seagulls' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2007; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

One World, Mixed feelings, a Thousand Cuts

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

[Update July 3rd 2018]:Every now and then readers email to ask why I post both gay-interest and general poems on my Google+ site. [Google have since removed personal posts from that site.]A reader wrote only yesterday to insist they are separate genres. Well, everyone is entitled to their point of view, but I see them as alternative voices of the same genre, A poem is a poem is a poem regardless of content just as a person is a person is a person regardless of colour, creed, sex or sexuality. Similarly, one voice, one world. As I have said before, our differences don't make us different, only human.]

In 2016, National Theatre head Rufus Norris and artist Jeremy Deller were behind a project taking place across the UK with men dressed as World War One soldiers. Each carried a card with the name of the soldier they represented and his age - if known - when he died. This ‘living memorial’ involved about 1,500 voluntary participants appearing in public spaces across the UK; the project, entitled We're Here Because We're Here, was commissioned by 14-18 NOW, the UK's arts programme for the World War One centenary.

Gay people go to war too, of course, always have and always will even if they have had to keep their sexuality under wraps. (Why under wraps? Nature does not discriminate so why should human nature; human nature is better than that...isn't it? Oh, world religions may discriminate but I sincerely doubt any God would, and I don't say that because I am gay but simply as a human being with a strong sense of spirituality that I chose to take from nature rather than any religion even as a child.)

Now, I do not believe in a life after death as such, but neither do I believe in some eternal nothingness. Nature tells me there is a never-ending sense of renewal. My own feelings assure me we live on in the lives - not just the memory - of others. So what of those who never knew us and what will happen to those memories when family and friends who shared them are all dead?  No one knows, of course, and although I do not subscribe to any religion, I envy those who do if only in the sense that it must be very comforting to feel assured that this life is not all there is for us.

Ah, but we are all influenced by other people; in turn, we, too, influence others by what we say and do. In this way we create a ‘presence’ that even death cannot wipe away as if we were but a smudge on the temporal landscape. In this way, at least, we continue our paths through ‘live’ time and space if only in spirit.

There is an old saying, 'Where there's life, there's hope' - and life is everywhere...

This poem is a kenning.

ONE WORLD, MIXED FEELINGS, A THOUSAND CUTS

Death caught my hand one day,
and led me through a cold, dark place
where a part of me wanted to stay;
the cold, it stripped all my pain away;
the dark, it hid tears on my face
for the part of me so wanting to stay;
temptation, an end to endeavour,
but sure to make me suffer for a part
of me that’s come to...nothing?

Broken heart, telling me straight
while peering over Death’s shoulder
at that part of me wanting to die;
suddenly, a welcome light appears,
inciting a rush of heat to the body,
sufficient to allay even secret fears;
I succumb to a familiar embrace,
hear a loved voice reciting the poetry
of that part of me I cannot face

Enter, the life force of humanity,
its responsibility to liberty, equality
and fraternity, no excuses
(in any socio-cultural -religious name)
for undermining the principles
of democracy by silencing its voices
among which sexuality has no less
right to be heard and heeded as any other
in a world found wanting

I am Hope, homing in on world history,
inspiring free spirits, century to century

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2016

[Note: This is not a new post, but one that was accidentally deleted; the poem has been significantly revised since it first appeared on the blog in 2010.]

The Zen of Renewal OR Outlook, Positive

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

So many people tell me every year that they dread January 1^st, a whole new year stretching ahead that is unlikely to live up to either Happy Christmas or New Year celebrations. January sales on the High Street are more likely to be suspect than generous (shifting unwanted stock) and any excitement over ‘bargains’ short-lived. 

So, what next? What, indeed…? Dare I suggest it is down to us…not circumstances-beyond-our-control or fate by any other name …but us. 

Oh, we are not entirely in control of whatever life dishes us. That is SO true. We ARE, though, in control (if we choose to take it) of how – in the longer term at least – we choose to respond. We all have choices and many if not most of these are not easily made, but choosing positives over negatives has to be a good thing … well, doesn’t it?

Now, if New Year creates a sense of renewal in us, that is just the start - albeit a good one - of a lifetime process; we  need to keep up the momentum during the months to come, do our best to stay positive whatever life (and weather) chooses to throw at us. (Did I say it would be easy?)

An integral part of the human condition is its spirit, regardless of whether or not we subscribe to any religion; we need to trust it to see us through any bad times and return us to a positive sense of who we really are ... better than the worst life can throw at us, for a start

Once we start feeding negative thoughts into mind-body-spirit, the chances are it will go onto free fall sooner rather than later. I've done that, been there and ... never again, if I can help it.

Here's wishing you all a Happy, Positive and Peaceful life,

Love 'n' Hugs,

Roger x

THE ZEN OF RENEWAL or OUTLOOK, POSITIVE

Another year begs

to be enjoyed for its own sake,

not as reparation

for others that have let us down,

failed to live up

to expectations feeding dreams

that fail to mature…

because that’s just how it is,

the way we are?

Another year

pleads a chance to prove itself,

not as reparation

for glossing over past misfortunes

turning mountains

into molehills so the human ego

can rest easy…

because that’s just how it is,

the way we are?

Another year

when looking back at negatives

will get us nowhere

unless it’s back where we started

before we began

to get wise to false promises

and fake news…

because that’s just how it is,

the way we are?

Another year,

urging mind-body-spirit to listen

to its weaker self

focusing on losses, regrets, mistakes,

and making excuses

for not looking on the bright side

of life…

because that’s just how it is,

the way we are?

Another year,

making time to let a dawn chorus

reassure us all

that nature and human nature but wait

to be embraced

in a spirit of hope-peace-love

(raison d’être)

because that’s just how it is,

the way we are

Copyright R. N. Taber 2018

The Play's the Thing OR Audience Appreciation Paramount

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

‘One of the first conditions of happiness is that the link between Man and nature shall not be broken.’ – Leo Tolstoy

That quote leapt to mind one evening only recently as I recalled observing a glorious sunset from my bedroom window that looked over the backyard and garden of my childhood family home.  I experienced such a link then, like an electric current so powerful it made my head swim and almost knocked me off my feet.

I was only 13 years-old at the time, and that feeling of intense, personal bonding with nature has never left me even in my darkest moments. Whenever people let me down (as people are inclined from time to time) I go for a walk in the country, let Earth Mother  dry any tears and lend me the strength to rise above any ill feeling.  

Nature, too, of course lets us down sometimes; Earth Mother can be a harsh mentor. Yet, mentors teach and the better pupil will learn. While we should not cherry pick what we choose to take on board or reject, I suspect most if not all of us do just that. Whatever, I look around and see the world Shakespeare once likened to a stage as parts of a whole, and I bond with that whole, and the whole is nature.

I also recall my English Teacher at secondary school, 'Jock Rankin', commenting that we are to nature as nature is to us, and the sooner humanity gets to grips with that, the greater its chances of survival.  Like everyone else in Class 5B, I nodded and said “Yes, sir!” although none of us had a clue what he meant at the time. When I summon that moment to my mind’s eye now, though, more than half a century later, I am not in class at all, but that same bedroom window experiencing an epiphany in a sunset…

Ever get the feeling we are all but players in a docudrama, have been such since the beginning of time, and doubtless will continue to be so as past, present and future merges into that infinity we call death .... ?

"The play's the thing..." says Hamlet in Shakespeare's own play, referring to how his play will give the audience food for thought on recent events. Much the same, though, can be a said for all performance arts, (indeed, all art) in the sense of its intending to  give any audience serious food for thought as well as pleasure and entertainment.

THE PLAY'S THE THING or AUDIENCE APPRECIATION PARAMOUNT

Glad blue skies, a stagy backcloth

to sad, naked branches

barely hinting at far kinder times

yet to come once winter

has worked its worst on humanity

for wanting to prove itself

better, stronger than Earth Mother

while working its worst

on all things bright, beautiful

and freely given

Sad clouds leading us a merry dance

for wondering if any tears

that may (or may not) fall are meant

to harm (even kill) or nurture,

inspire, re-invent an ethos of peace,

love, kindness and respect

for nature, human nature, all-inclusive

no cherry picking for any ego

demanding the bright and beautiful

serve its own interests

Grey skies, making no sure promises

(or threats) to naked humanity

anxious to avoid the worst of nature

yet to come once winters

of the heart have worked their worst

on human mind-body-spirit

obsessed with survival for its own sake

rather than acknowledging it

all the brighter and more beautiful

for freely given

Amber-red skies, reflecting uncertainty

on earth as it is in heavens

anxious to see us avoid the very worst

we knowingly or unknowingly

propagate for the sake of a greater good

as reworked by dogma

bent on killing freedom of expression

by imaging only the brighter

and more beautiful in its own eyes,

on its own terms

Wide, open skies, ever inviting all nature

and human nature to a life

freely given, never for the asking or taking

besides Time’s remit

written in tablets of stone before its seasons

flowered, died and rose again

as humankind woke, slept and woke again;

testimony to old gods, new gods

and digitalised mock-ups... no match

for Earth Mother

  

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

Redemption

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

I discovered the original version of this poem in a drawer while collating a collection in 2007; it was dated May 1979, only months before I had a nervous breakdown from which it would take me a few years to recover. 

Regular readers will know that I often revise poems, sometimes only slightly, sometimes drastically, but always significantly. This doesn't mean I lack confidence in a poem at the time, only that my perception of whatever feelings prompted me to write the poem in the first place have changes or at east shifted. Many poems in my early collections were  written long before I achieved any level of maturity as a poet although not all have been subsequently revised. I have no regrets about publishing them, though, if only because this maturation (an ongoing process) fascinates me; hopefully, readers might find it - as well as the poems - of interest too. 

Meanwhile...

By all means let’s reach for the stars…but be sure not to strive so hard that we miss what is under our very noses.

REDEMPTION

Wishing on a star 

in our loneliest hour;

empathy with a sad moon

for hope gone

Searching a rainbow

for a kinder tomorrow;
chasing a playful sunbeam

in a daydream

Reaching for a sky

that would have us cry;
make merry with songbirds, 
learning the words

Making a fresh start

on Main Street, play a part 
in what makes the world turn,
no need to run

Letting imagination

realise its own redemption
for giving nature and humanity
a shared reality

Seeking peace of mind,

where sceptical humankind

makes of any promises and trust
but handfuls or dust 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Handfuls of Dust' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]